


Body Trips

by theinstinct



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Jackson POV, Missing Scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-14 22:25:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinstinct/pseuds/theinstinct
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the latter part of S2; while everyone runs around trying to decide what to do with the kanima, Jackson struggles to understand just what is going on and finally realises that he isn't ready to pay the price for what he thinks he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Body Trips

**Author's Note:**

> Some character development thing I wrote for Jackson for a game on IJ. It mostly covers the blackouts and the little moments in between.

For the first time, Jackson wondered if all this wouldn't have happened if he'd told someone. If he'd told Danny, or even Lydia, maybe he'd have someone else keeping an eye on him when he was out of commission and stopping him. Sure, there would be a lot of derision at first––Danny would laugh, Lydia would give him The Look,––but he wouldn't have to hide so damn often. He wouldn't have to play pretend to the two people he had ever opened up to. In his eyes, they might as well have been the earth and the sky––they were that important, even if he'd never admit it.   
  
Not that any of that mattered. What could they do? Not much, if the red staining his arms and hands was anything to go by. Not much at all. He was overestimating what a bunch of teenagers could do to stop a rampaging monster.

  
He remembered the first time it happened. Not the first time he had changed into the monster, but the first time he'd woken up from it.   
  
He remembered his confusion and the disorientation. He remembered the moment of blind panic at the sight of the blood. Thinking back on it, he could almost taste that sickening copper penny tang sitting in the back of his throat. Jackson had wanted to throw up. It had been an overwhelming urge setting his guts on fire; it had been a sour pressure clogging up his throat. He'd choked. He'd gagged. But above all else, the fear of being exposed for what he really was nearly paralysed him.   
  
Jackson's first thought had been to dart to the bathroom. Turn the shower to full blast. He'd fumbled with the body wash, desperate to eliminate all signs of vulnerability and weakness. All the while, a part of his mind screamed about the blood. Blood. He was covered in blood. He could taste blood in his mouth. His skin was speckled in blood. Somehow, he'd known that it was human blood. _Human._   
  
Immediately, the questions came: whose was it? _Whose_? Was it Lydia's? Was it–– No, wait. His mum. She was supposed to be home. What if––   
  
He was in his room again.   
  
Wasn't he in the shower?   
  
His hands were dripping with blood again and this time, he had _claws_. It was like a nightmare. No. A slasher movie. He had knives for fingernails and they were red with blood. He couldn't make them go away. He needed them to go away. He needed to check on his parents. As much as it pained him to think about it, he needed to make sure they were all right.   
  
Jackson could feel his insides knotting up, turning over in uneasiness. He clutched a towel in his balled fists, desperately hoping that his parents were all right, and that they wouldn't notice the towel he was using to hide his hands. In retrospect, he could have washed off the evidence of the monster, but he _needed to know_.   
  
He didn't know if he should have been relieved or not that their bedroom was empty. They were gone again. He could deal with the hollow prick of pain in his chest. He gritted his teeth and waited for the flutter of panic to fade away. They had left, but they would be back.   
  
And then he remembered the other people he could have hurt. As he struggled fruitlessly with his phone, the ugly claws getting in the way and making such a basic function as texting impossible, Jackson started to remember. Maybe it was the smear of blood he was leaving that had triggered the memories. Maybe it was the sound of the monster's claws tapping against his phone. Whatever it was, there was no escaping the fragmented images. Scenes that looked like they had been lifted directly out of horror movies flashed through his mind; they played on the insides of his eyelids when he closed his eyes in a vain attempt to _forget_.   
  
It only made it worse. As he tried pathetically to call Danny, to call Lydia, he started seeing the monster going after them. It was a scaly, indistinct blur with giant claws. But the scales were all over him, replacing his skin, and the horrible claws were stuck in soft flesh, blood gushing all––   
  
Something akin to an electric shock shot up his arm, jolting him back to his senses.   
  
There was sound this time. People around him. So many people for the monster to hurt. He didn't have time to think, because he looked up and there was Lydia. Jackson had never been good at regulating his own emotions and this time, they were a raging maelstrom: relief, concern, pleasure, terror, frustration, pain, urgency, automatic pride and that ever-present anger.   
  
Jackson discarded the need to pull away and acted on the sense of urgency and the concern. He had no time. He never knew how long he would really be there. "Trust me, you don't want me there." Because he was the monster. Because he didn't have the time to explain, or even the desire to. All he wanted was to keep Lydia out of it. She was better off with him out of her life, anyway. Even though he didn't want her out of his, just like he couldn't let go of her hand.   
  
He wanted to insist more, maybe scare her off and push her away the way he was so good at, but Lydia was pulling away of her own accord. It was a small gesture. It should have meant nothing. And yet, it felt as if she was leaving him. This time, Jackson could feel the hissing darkness pulling him under.   
  
He had a nightmare.   
  
He dreamed that there was a party and that his biological parents were there. It brought back the memory of the time he'd wandered away from his mum because he'd thought that he'd seen his _real_ mum. It was weak. It was stupid. He couldn't believe how naive he had been.   
  
Jackson felt as if he were being torn in two when they had started to turn towards him. Part of him was feverish with the need to see their faces and finally glean _some_ hint of his history there. Another part of him was terrified of what he would see. And then they finally turned, revealing the blanks where faces should have been. They were nothing, so he was nothing. Maybe he would never be anything. Maybe that was why they'd thrown him away.   
  
He woke up from that nightmare to another one.   
  
His bedroom again. Blood again. He even had the memories to go with them, now. It didn't matter how many showers he took, the blood would come back again. There was no helping it. Jackson had no control over what was happening. He had no idea what was going on. Why was he still running free and allowed to murder even more people? Did no one see that something was wrong? Was there no way to go back to normal?   
  
The answer was obvious. He was Jackson Whittemore, after all. Apparently, he really did have no one. Small surprise, too, considering just what he was. Even his friends wanted to kill him for all the trouble he was causing.   
  
Jackson bit back that awful sound that was trying to dig its way out of his throat. He stared through burning eyes at the blood that still dripped from his hands. For the first time, he considered taking matters into his own hands. No one could be responsible for him but himself. It would hurt his parents and maybe his friends, but in the long run, it would be the right choice. He hated running away, but this wasn't the same, was it? He didn't want to, he hated the thought, but didn't he already have enough blood on his hands?   
  
He could solve the problem so easily, too. His claws were sharp and strong; he could slice right through bone and even monsters had to die if there was no heart, right?   
  
It wasn't just the monster, however. There was a master as well. That master would still be able to hurt the people he cared for––Jackson had seen his mind. Jackson didn't want them hurt. It was even all right if they couldn't care for him back. He just didn't want them hurt. He wanted them safe, and a selfish part of him just wanted to be close to them. He wanted them to actually see him and to help him not be a failure. That had been the point of becoming a werewolf all along, wasn't it?   
  
_Focus._   
  
They just needed to be safe.   
  
_" **Jackson!** "_   
  
He blacked out again only to find himself in full lacrosse gear, opposite Danny. Danny's concern was suddenly obvious again, and Jackson remembered how his friend had looked for him after the incident at Jungle. It seemed so genuine, but Danny was a genuinely nice guy and with the way the ground kept trying to shift and crumble under his feet, Jackson just didn't know what to think anymore. One thing was for sure: he didn't matter anymore and his first priority was Danny, because the master was planning something for the field.   
  
Jackson didn't answer Danny's question. He just warned him. He hoped that Danny would listen to him. He needed him to.   
  
Just as it had been with Lydia, things slipped away very quickly. Just before the silence, he found himself thinking that it would only take a heartbeat for him to make everything stop. In the space of just the blink of an eye, everything would be fine again.   
  
He couldn't do that in front of Danny, though. He didn't know where Lydia was, where his parents were, but he couldn't let them see him like that.   
  
Jackson struggled against the black tide with every ounce of will he had, but he was tired and so battered, and everything just dissolved into nothingness again.


End file.
